Hushed Willows But damn girl, since you've come around

Reverie’s take on it was a nice spin on matters—vehemence laced her voice, and she bore into him, stirring his own eyes to sharply look up to her own. The question was one that should truly only be posed to fathers who deserved their titles—men like Arric, perhaps.

Not fathers whose kids ran away from them.

Reverie stepped back—he could see exhaustion emanating from her, and he held his tongue—she made her mind clear on the matter, and he would allow that to settle between them. “Goodnight, Reverie,” he murmured as she began to turn—if she expected a scathing reply it would not come. Instead, he would drift over to the moss-covered ground next to a tree trunk—stiffly settling himself against it. Whether sleep came or not, all that was left was to wait until morning. Reverie could show him what he needed to know—and soon, they would return to the creek.